


Second Guessing

by Lisafer



Category: Provost's Dog - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:09:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something makes Beka reconsider her engagement to Holborn.  This time, it's Rosto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Guessing

I’m writing this on the second day of May. I haven’t kept a journal in nigh three years – haven’t had the time or need for one, since my adventures in Port Caynn, when Ahuda suggested I clean up my reports a bit. But this time around, I’m doing it for my own sanity rather than my reports.

Things have happened – things I might not be proud of – and it takes writing down my thoughts to sort it all out.

Yesterday was Beltane. I was meant to spend the day with Holborn but he’s been taking care of his sick mother. So after spending the morning with them, I went to the Dancing Dove to spend time with Aniki and Kora. And Rosto.

Things have been sommat strange with Rosto since I agreed to marry Holborn. I’ve done my best not to avoid him – he has a way of looking at me, his eyes asking “are you certain, Beka?” between every blink. This time was no different; he watched and listened, not joining in the conversation. He would wander away to do his business, but he always came back to our table to sit across from me, giving me that look.

“He’s still sore about you choosing another cove,” Aniki said, her voice low, when he slipped away to talk to a Lower City merchant.

Kora nodded. “I don’t think you know how much he likes you, Beka.”

Heat rushed to my face, but I still protested. “He’s got other mots.” At first I’d thought he’d been sharing his bed with Kora and Aniki, but I’d been wrong. Aniki once told me that she’d never cared for him that way, and his and Kora’s romance had fizzled coming to Corus. Besides, she was with Ersken now. And Rosto flitted from bed to bed, I’d heard.

“They don’t mean aught to him,” Kora said. “He’s still sweet on you.”

We’d kissed several times over the last few years; he’d caught me off-guard when we shared the same lodging house. I was relieved when he’d moved to the Dancing Dove, but it didn’t last for long. We still met for breakfast, and he’d cornered me every so often, catching me by surprise and stealing kisses. 

Maybe they were given some of the time. I can be honest and admit that, if it’s just in my journal.

But after Holborn, he gave me my space. Except for that challenging expression whenever we looked at each other. Mayhaps Kora and Aniki are right, and he saw me as sommat special, but was keeping his distance out of respect. I don’t know.

Well, I didn’t know.

Most of the fires were banked in the early evening, and all of the Lower City seemed to be out in the streets, jumping over embers and watching the mage-fires blasting in the sky. Oft times street festivals make me wary and on edge – so many distractions for Rats to take advantage of – but the smell of all the food and the happy atmosphere was contagious.

“Shouldn’t you be with your cove?” Rosto asked in a whisper, his mouth hovering near my ear. His voice was lower and huskier than I was accustomed to.

“He’s with his mother. She’s sick.”

“She’d have to be knocking on the Black God’s door to leave your side on Beltane, were it me.”

“It’s not you,” I told him harshly.

He pulled me into a darkened alley, his face lit up by one of the few bonfires still burning on the main thoroughfare. “It could’ve been, Beka.”

“You and I both know it—”

His lips were on mine, sweet and coaxing as they ever had been. He held me close, his arms firm around me, and for a moment I thought I was melting. Holborn never kissed me like this. He just wasn’t the sort.

I jerked away at the thought of my fiancé, simultaneously pushing him away from me. “We shouldn’t do this,” I protested.

“But you want to.” 

“You can’t tell what I want.” I hoped that having all the light of the street behind me would keep him from being able to read my face. I wasn’t angry enough – not at him, leastways.

“You can’t hide from me,” he said. “I know you far too well.”

“You don’t,” I insisted. But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t the whole truth. There was sommat between us – there always had been – and he knew it as well as I did. There had been many a night afore he took rooms at the Dancing Dove that I’d lie awake in my bed, wondering what might happen if I were to tiptoe into his room and lie in his bed instead. I tried not to let the fantasy go too far, lest I drive myself into his arms. He’s a Rat, plain and simple. And a good Dog doesn’t play with Rats.

“We can make it work, Beka,” he said, taking my hands in his and holding them against his chest. “Life doesn’t have to be black and white, good and evil. There’s plenty of grey areas – Kora and Ersken found them quickly enough.”

“Kora’s not the Rogue.”

“And Ersken’s not the Provost’s bloodhound.” His voice was soft and a little sad, and it made me wish there were only kindness between us.

“I’m going to marry Holborn,” I whispered. I don’t know if it was for him or for me.

“You aren’t going to marry him,” he said. This time when he leaned into me for a kiss, I met him more than halfway. And Gods, was it worth it. We kissed like that in the alley for a good deal of time – all the fires were banked and I was pressed up against the wall, his lean body hot against mine, when I noticed that the streets were less crowded.

“Should we finish this elsewhere?” he asked huskily.

I couldn’t speak. Instead I nodded, and even as a thrill went through me, I felt another part of me aching. I knew what I was doing, and I knew what it would mean to Holborn. But I took Rosto’s hand in mine and led the way back to the Dove.

It’s been several hours since I got back to my own rooms. Guilt drove me to wash up several times, and I’m looking forward to a proper trip to the bathhouse once the sun rises. I’ve also played out the night in my head – the things we did to each other, the way it felt. 

Was it worth it? I ask myself this question over and over again.

I suppose it depends on what Holborn says, doesn’t it?

_You aren’t going to marry him._

Rosto sounded so sure of himself, so confident. And now I have to wonder - is he right?


End file.
